


Illusion of Truth

by cathcer1984



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Gen, Harry-centric, No Dialogue, off-screen violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 14:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13390014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathcer1984/pseuds/cathcer1984
Summary: Repeatedly hearing a lie actually makes us believe it. This is called "Illusion of Truth" and it affects 100% of all humans.





	Illusion of Truth

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to QM, K, M, and G for all their help, support and ideas. And G for her brilliant beta-ing skills.  
> I loved this prompt, I immediately thought of 1984 (which I love for weird and ridiculous reasons, and read every second year) when I saw it and I desperately wanted to give this a slight sense of that but also make it its own piece.  
> The summary is a true fact, I came across it on one of my ‘fact hunts’ and the timing was perfect, for it was the day I saw your prompt and it seemed a whole lot like kismet.
> 
> HP-Silencio fic

The sun peeked weakly from behind the clouds, barely making a difference to the mood of the dismal day. Harry counted the steps in his head as he walked along the streets to Whitehall.

He waited in line, eyes down, fingering the gold coin in his pocket. Moved forward as each man before him did. In unison they would lift their right foot and place it down, then move their left to even the step. This was repeated every thirty seconds until Harry was standing before a cubicle door. He slotted in his gold coin, entered the cubicle, stood in the toilet and flushed.

The spinning lasted a few seconds before he emerged from one of the fireplaces in the Atrium. He did not look up or pause as he passed by the tall black obelisk, its thin structure casting a brief shadow over him as he walked towards the lift.

He had no need to stare at the black stone: Harry already knew the words that were engraved onto its surface, the only mark in the smooth, endlessness of the obelisk.

Magic is Might.

You-Know-Who’s motto had remained after the Forgotten War, and some days Harry was sure he was the only wizard to know that War had occurred, but to speak of it would mean persecution. There would be two consequences for contacting someone and asking if they remembered. If they were an Unauthentic, he would face death. If they were a Complete, he would be tortured.

As an In-Complete, Harry was only allowed within the Ministry. Nowhere else in the Wizarding World was he able to gain access; wards kept him, and those like him, out. Un-Completes were allowed into the Ministry Atrium only, and this was only every fourth Tuesday when Unauthentics were processed.

With his head down, Harry had almost reached the lift when a scream ripped through the silence, man and woman looked towards the commotion. It was an Unauthentic, screaming for her rights.

She had no rights.

Harry quickly looked away and shuffled forward, heart pounding. He knew the Unauthentic. He had been her comrade once, during the Forgotten War. Now, he did not know her, and he could not think of her as his comrade. One only had comrades within their status.

The Unauthentic was still screaming, her bushy brown hair and dirty face barely discernible from her black clothing. Harry glanced back when she quietened. Their eyes met and he knew she recognised him, so, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks with fear he would be found out as her comrade, Harry let his lip curl into a sneer. Her familiar brown eyes closed in disbelief.

Harry glanced at his grey clothes, the clothes that marked him as an In-Complete as he moved through the Ministry of Magic, cleaning up after the Completes. He was safe in his grey clothes and he kept them clean; most In-Completes did after one of their comrades had gotten dirty from his work and was mistaken for an Unauthentic. Harry had known that In-Complete. He had been an Irish comrade from the Forgotten War. Harry could not remember his name.

He barely remembered his own name, and he would think it in his mind every day, just once, in case they overheard.

They were everywhere in their white clothes speaking loudly in public, pretending they knew The Founder. Pretending that they could speak with him and dine with him, but Harry did not believe this. He had not forgotten the Completes that spoke loudly as he cleaned their office on his hands and knees, scrubbing the floors and stealing bits of parchment. These Completes, one with pure white-blond hair and the other with red, hated each other, but as Complete comrades they had to show unity.

Unity within the comrades meant unity within the system. It was lie after lie with The Founder, a mysterious omniscient man that no one knew and who had control of the Wizarding World.

Harry carefully kept his head down and his thoughts on his work, since one never knew who to trust. Being alone did not mean that one’s thoughts went unheard, that The Founder would not hear their unspoken words and punish them accordingly.

Some days, like today, Harry wanted to shout as loud as possible and be heard. He did not fight in the Forgotten War to be an In-Complete. He had been so sure he’d done the right thing then, when he allowed himself to think about it. Harry had been convinced that by winning and then hiding he was saving himself.

He was not. He condemned his world instead.

While Harry had hid, licked his wounds and mourned his dead, The Founder had whispered his pretty words in the ears of the masses. Woven his magic around the people and taken their freedom, their ideas, their voices.

It had been a long time since the Forgotten War and almost no time at all. So much had changed in the wizarding world and yet Harry remembered. He remembered the blood and the screams. The fear and hopelessness. Harry remembered and that was enough on most days.

On other days it was not nearly enough.

Those were the days Harry hated. He struggled to keep his head down and his mouth shut. Those days he wanted to scream at how wrong it was, he wanted to seize those he had called friends and have them rally around him and fight for him, with him. Again.

He could pretend that he did not care that some were Unauthentics, others In-Completes and the rest Completes. He would try not to sneer as the Unauthentic would hug him, he would try not to cower as the Complete clapped his back. Harry liked to think that he would have control of his emotions.

Harry gulped as a shard of a glass vial from the bin he was clearing nicked his finger. He could not let his In-Complete blood stain a Complete’s office. He could not sully it. He drew his wand even though he was unable to cast a spell to heal himself.

When the blood was suddenly cleared and his skin had knitted itself together Harry glanced up to see the red-haired, lop-sided Complete twisting his wrist to send his wand back down his sleeve. Meeting his bright blue eyes Harry lowered his chin in silent thanks before pulling the bag of rubbish with him as he left.

He dumped the bag down a hatch in the wall that had a tube leading to the Ministry of Magic’s internal fire pit. Running his sweaty palms over his grey clothes Harry averted his eyes from two Completes as they walked by, one joking loudly about how she’d had The Founder over for dinner, and how he’d wanted seconds of her dessert.

Harry knew it was not true.

Harry cleaned the Ministry of Magic along with the other In-Completes before, as one, they all filed out through the fireplaces and into the toilets at Whitehall. The others made their way home in twos or threes, but Harry walked alone.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the piece of parchment he had stolen earlier, dropping it onto the pavement. Only two words--a name--were written on the parchment that remained there until it was snatched up by another In-Complete as he passed by long after Harry had left.

The In-Complete would pause as he reads the name before moving along quickly and passing the note on. Tomorrow the Complete named on the parchment would be publicly humiliated for helping an In-Complete.

Harry’s heart clenched but emotions were unnecessary, unneeded and unwanted.

As soon as Harry reached his home, Grimmauld Place, he let himself in. Checking that there was at least one person watching him as he shut the door, Harry then walked down to the kitchen and Apparated away to The Foundation.

The mansion was clean and warm, though there were no personal effects and that made it feel empty but Harry didn’t care. The stairs that led up to The Founder’s office were winding and dark, but with a flick of his wrist Harry’s wand was lit and leading the way.

By the time he reached the top Harry’s heart was pounding. His breathing deepened as he approached the dark wooden door. He pushed it open and moved inside the office. Glancing around, Harry smiled slightly at the portraits that lined the walls and called out their greetings, paused to have a quiet word with Dumbledore’s portrait and stopped again at Snape’s to exchange insults.

He reached the Founder’s desk and pressed a palm to the wood, quickly scanning the parchments there. They were separated into three piles: Completes, In-Completes and Unauthentics, but he was not interested in what they said.

Harry sat and waited.

It was ten minutes before a Complete entered the room, tall and towering over the Unauthentic who was walking behind him. Harry raised his eyebrows when he saw her and she blushed in return.

As they sat before him Harry told Ron that his brother would be Humiliated tomorrow for helping an In-Complete, and Hermione would have to hide out in The Foundation. Her performance that morning in the Ministry of Magic meant that someone Polyjuiced as her would have to die after the Humiliation.

A house-elf popped in and brought them drinks and robes. Hermione shed her black clothes and pulled on a deep navy robe. Ron eyed her before he changed into a bright orange robe, while Harry dressed himself in green.

They sat together enjoying their time before they had to go back to being strangers and relegated to their roles in the society they had created.


End file.
